


oh pretty boy, can't you show me nothin' but surrender?

by ragecandybar (raunchyandpaunchy)



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Aftercare, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fear Play, Frottage, Humiliation, Knifeplay, M/M, Piers says fuck around and find out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Spit Kink, surprisingly fluffy in among all the filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25295287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/ragecandybar
Summary: “Fuck, darlin’,” Piers sighs, loosening his grip. “You’re a fuckin’ mess.”It should be degrading, but there’s something painfully fond in it that makes Raihan want to hear it a thousand times over. Like he’s his mess, as much a part of Piers’ life as the dirty clothes strewn around his bedroom and the grimy venues he plays. Raihan has spent hours trying to take the perfect selfie, making sure the light hits just right and his face doesn’t look puffy and his body looks just the right amount of muscular-but-toned to net him the maximum number of likes.An entire Instagram account’s worth of picture perfect images, and yet Piers likes him best when he’s like this.
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Nezu | Piers
Comments: 24
Kudos: 156





	oh pretty boy, can't you show me nothin' but surrender?

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to faustin for betaing this one for me!
> 
> Title (and inspiration for this fic) is from Land by Patti Smith.

They’re barely inside Piers’ flat when Raihan feels the knife press against his thigh.

“Don’t be makin’ any sudden moves, now,” Piers murmurs, the hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Wouldn’t want you losin’ anything important.” Slides the knife ever so slightly upward, tapping the flat of the blade against Raihan’s inner thigh, and it’s only now that Raihan realises exactly how terrifying a predicament he’s in—trapped between the cold, hard wall and the edge of a switchblade, the tip inches from his groin.

It isn’t like he wasn’t expecting it, but the reality of it actually happening is a world away from anything he’s ever imagined. It’s tangible in a way mere fantasies can never be; the shock of cold steel, the clammy sweat clinging to his skin. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, the sound impossibly loud in the cramped confines of Piers’ bedroom.

“That’s a good boy.” Piers grins, his thumb rubbing lazy circles across Raihan’s stomach. “Take it easy. No reason either of us needs to get hurt, hmm?”

Raihan exhales, leaning into the wall. “Yeah, ah.” He’d thought he’d have to feign fear, at least a little, but the hollowness in his voice and the adrenaline coursing through his veins are only too real. “You’ll forgive me if I’m doubtful, since you’re holding a fucking _knife_ to my leg.”

“Can hold it somewhere else if you want,” Piers offers cheerfully, inching the blade higher.

“No!” Raihan clears his throat. “No, I mean—” He swallows. “L-leg is fine.” Leg is decidedly not fine, but it’s better than the alternative. “Why the fuck do you have a knife?”

“Can’t be too careful these days,” Piers says, head cocked. “Spikemuth’s full of all kinds of dangerous people. One minute you could be mindin’ your own business,” he says, flipping the knife over, “and the next, you could have some bloke pressin’ you up against the wall, tellin’ you how pretty you look when you’re sweatin’ and scared.”

Piers, by all accounts, doesn’t look like the kind of man you could call threatening. He’s a full foot shorter than Raihan, with the kind of figure that suggests he hasn’t eaten a square meal in years, and there’s a softness to his features that all the eyeliner and fatigue in the world can’t camouflage. When Raihan had first met him, he’d clapped him on the back so hard he’d knocked the breath from his lungs, and for the first few weeks of knowing him he wouldn’t have even questioned if he could take Piers in a fight.

That was, until he started noticing the little details. The steely determination in his voice when he commanded his pokemon. The way his body moved, lithe and lightning-fast, throwing himself around with seemingly no regard for his own personal safety. Then, after some drinks when they were both in Motostoke, the way he kissed Raihan like he was claiming him, all sharp teeth and aggression, sucking marks into his neck that lingered all the way back home to Hammerlocke.

Now, Raihan knows better. Nothing is more terrifying than a man underestimated, especially one with a blade in his hand.

“What do you want?”

“Givin’ in that easily?” Piers tuts. “Not what I was expectin’ from the tamer of dragons.” Lowers his free hand into Raihan’s shorts, gripping his hard cock and giving it a firm squeeze. “Unless, of course, you’re gettin’ off on all this. Is that it?”

Raihan doesn’t know what kind of a person he has to be for a man holding a switchblade inches away from his balls to be arousing, and he’s not eager to examine it. It had taken him long enough to admit to himself that he might want this, and from there, to communicate that want to Piers. Given that they’d talked it out, this should be the easy part. But somehow, saying it out loud like this—his cock in Piers’ hand, twitching with every little movement—is just as terrifying as the knife against his thigh, and every bit as liable to flay him open.

“Asked you a question, darlin’.” The grip around Raihan’s cock tightens. “S’rude to ignore people, and you wouldn’t be bein’ rude, would ya?”

Raihan hisses through his teeth, sharp canine biting into his lower lip. “N—no, I, uh—” Fuck, he’s _squirming_. “Want this. Please.”

The grin that spreads across Piers’ face is utterly shit-eating, and Raihan should be pissed off about it, but he’s never been so turned on in his life. “Look at ya, askin’ all nice for me. Knew you had manners.” Pets fondly at Raihan’s stomach, his grin widening as the muscles tense underneath his palms. “Maybe if ya ask nice enough, you’ll get to come.”

Piers steps back, withdrawing the knife, and Raihan lets out a sigh that’s half relief, half disappointment.

“But first, you have to earn it. Get on your knees.”

It takes a moment for Piers’ words to register, Raihan’s head being all fuzzy the way it is, and by the time they do there’s a blade pointed at Raihan’s stomach.

“I said, _get on your knees_.”

Raihan’s only heard Piers use that tone of voice once, and it was the last time they’d fucked. Piers had been tying him up—or attempting to, anyway, but Raihan was insistent he wasn’t going to make it easy on him. Let him earn it, he’d thought.

_Give me your hands, Raihan,_ he’d said, stern and ice-cold. _Now._

Raihan had looked him dead in the eye, smiled, and then asked: _or what?_

_Or what_ had turned out to be a caning so severe he couldn’t sit right for days after, bruises blooming across his arse under the welts the cane had left. And, while he didn’t regret it, he isn’t eager to find out what _or what_ might entail in this situation.

“Good boy,” Piers purrs, mocking, and Raihan’s world narrows to the scratch of the carpet against his bare knees, the fingers in his hair, blunt nails grazing his scalp. “Don’t you look so pretty down there?”

It should be humiliating, being fawned over and petted like a meowth, but something about it all—the praise, the condescension—has heat blooming in the pit of his belly. Raihan shifts on his knees, cock throbbing and sticky in his shorts. 

“I wonder,” Piers says, seemingly to himself as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, “d’you get down on your knees for every man that puts you up against a wall?” Cocks his head to the side, then dips his hand into his underwear, pulling out his cock and giving it a long, slow stroke. “Or is this just for me?”

A whimper slips from Raihan’s lips, and Piers’ cock bobs in response, its head already slick with precum. “No,” Raihan says, breath quickening. “S’just you.”

“Well,” Piers says, tilting Raihan’s chin up with his finger. “Aren’t I lucky, then?” Presses his thumb against Raihan’s lower lip, dragging it down gently, coaxing his mouth open. “Look at me. You gonna do whatever I tell you to do, yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” Raihan says, the latter half coming out as a ragged exhale.

Piers smirks at him in that way he does, somewhere between mild amusement and complete disinterest, and it has no fucking right making Raihan as hard as it does. He’s never in his life felt small; he’s towered over every partner he’s ever had, including Leon, who isn’t exactly tiny. And yet, here he kneels, still having to lean over to suck Piers off because of the difference in height—and yet he feels miniscule; a bug ready to be squashed under Piers’ thigh-high boot.

“Good, because I don’t wanna have to tell ya twice.” Presses his thumb against the edge of Raihan’s teeth, prising his mouth further open. “You’re gonna keep that pretty mouth of yours open wide, and you’re gonna let me use it how I see fit. Got it?”

Raihan’s barely opened his mouth to answer when he sees Piers lean down, a strand of saliva cascading down from his mouth and dripping into Raihan’s own, sliding slick and warm onto his tongue. It’s disgusting, and degrading, but fuck, he’s so hard it _hurts_ —

Fingers tangle in his hair, grasping him roughly, and in one fluid motion Piers’ cock pushes into his mouth, bumping up against the back of his throat. It’s unexpected, and it’s so much, and all Raihan can do is huff through his nose and take it as Piers holds it there, still, still—

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his smile something grotesque and pointed through the tears obscuring Raihan’s eyes. “Just like that.”

He withdraws his cock and Raihan sputters, tears trickling down his cheeks as he gasps for air. It’s not that he’s never sucked cock, but it’s clear Piers doesn’t intend to make this easy for him; pushing him as close to the edge as he can without going over. It’d be genuinely terrifying, if not for the knowledge that all Raihan needs to do is give Piers’ thigh three firm pats or hum around his cock three times and he’ll be set free. But Piers is drawing out things Raihan hadn’t even known were there: that he likes feeling small sometimes, likes being challenged and bossed about and scared. Likes the mocking words, the knife to his skin, the sting of tears in his eyes.

This time, when Piers drives his cock into his mouth, Raihan’s prepared. Breathes through his nose and relaxes his throat and lets Piers fuck his face, fast and relentless, fingers winding tighter in his hair. He’s so focused on doing a good job that he barely notices Piers’ pace slowing to a stop, and the click that comes somewhere to his left. It isn’t until he feels something cold and hard and flat tap gently against his cheek that he realises what the sound was, and his breath catches, every muscle in his body tensing at the imminent threat of the knife.

“C’mon now, darlin’.” Piers smooths the knife across Raihan’s cheekbone like a caress. “Don’t choke up on me now. You were making me so _happy._ ” Taps once, twice. “You want to keep makin’ me happy, don’t you?”

Raihan tries to hum agreement, but all he can produce is a single, strangled noise.

Piers looks down at him and laughs, sadistic glee spreading across his face. “So _rude._ ” He starts thrusting again, cock slick with Raihan’s saliva. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

It’s clearly not a question Piers is waiting for an answer for. He pistons into Raihan’s mouth furiously, his fist gripping vice-like in his hair, pushing him flush against the wall. His other hand holds the knife, just out of reach—close enough that he could make a decisive move if he had to. Raihan doesn’t doubt Piers’ reflexes, even like this; swearing under his breath, the words barely audible above the obscene squelch of his dick in Raihan’s throat.

Raihan can feel when Piers is about to come; it’s in the way his thighs tense, cock pulsing, in the urgency and depth of his thrusts, and he meets those movements with his own, sucking harder and running his tongue along the underside of the shaft. A feral growl escapes Piers, and cum spurts hot and thick into Raihan’s mouth and down his throat. Piers pulls himself out, smiling with satisfaction as the last of his release dribbles out onto Raihan’s upper lip.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he sighs, loosening his grip. “You’re a fuckin’ _mess_.”

It should be degrading, but there’s something painfully fond in it that makes Raihan want to hear it a thousand times over. Like he’s _his_ mess, as much a part of Piers’ life as the dirty clothes strewn around his bedroom and the grimy venues he plays. Raihan has spent hours trying to take the perfect selfie, making sure the light hits just right and his face doesn’t look puffy and his body looks just the right amount of muscular-but-toned to net him the maximum number of likes.

An entire Instagram account’s worth of picture perfect images, and yet Piers likes him best when he’s like this—hair dishevelled, sweat-soaked, face filthy with cum and saliva.

“I suppose you’ve earned something,” Piers says, lifting Raihan’s chin with the tip of his knife. “So. What d’ya want?”

“Want to come. Fuck, please, Piers, want it so bad—”

“So fuckin’ _mouthy_ when my cock isn’t in there.” One dark brow arches appraisingly. “Alright. If you’re that desperate, grind against my boot to get off.”

The laugh escapes Raihan before he can stop it. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” The flat of the knife presses snug against Raihan’s throat. “Look, you’re already on your knees. You can either get off, or I can leave you as you are. No skin off my arse.”

Piers hasn’t even finished speaking before Raihan grips his hips, rutting against his boot like his life depends on it. He can feel embarrassed later—right now he just wants to come. This close, he can smell the scent of the leather, old and worn and complex, and it’s only now he realises how hard it makes him; how it reminds him of pain and pleasure and Piers.

He licks his lip, Piers’ cum bitter on his tongue, and his cock throbs in response, pressed between his body and the boot. There’s barely enough friction to get the kind of pressure he wants, and he’s desperately trying to keep his head and neck still through it all so the knife doesn’t slice him, and he’s about to cry with frustration until he angles himself in just the right spot and ruts against Piers’ leg like a man starved.

Nothing else matters, then—not the knife, not the Championship, not the followers he has or the battles he’s won. Right then, all that matters is this; leather and sweat and sex in his nostrils, pleasure building up and finally, _finally,_ brimming over, cock throbbing, underwear and shorts soaked through with his cum.

“Good boy,” Piers says softly, scratching affectionately at his scalp. “So fucking good.”

All Raihan can do for a moment is gasp for breath, shake through the aftershocks. His ears are ringing, heartbeat thumping in them like Wyndon Stadium on match day, and eventually he realises the knife is gone and he can stop tensing.

“Y’alright, darlin’?” Piers is crouched beside him now, comically small in comparison. “You did so well. So fuckin’ proud of you, Rai.”

What leaves Raihan’s mouth when he goes to speak is more noise than words, and Piers grabs his arm, hauling him gently to his feet.

“C’mon, let’s get somewhere half comfy at least.”

Piers’ bed is exactly as threadbare and busted up as Raihan had imagined it’d be when he’d first met him. The frame is barely holding together, and a spring has burst its way out of one of the bottom corners of the mattress. But Piers always piles as many cushions and pillows and blankets as he can find onto it, and not for the first time, Raihan’s surprised at just how comfortable it manages to be while still ostensibly being a bit of a shitheap. Still, he’d likely lay on the floor right now, for all the energy he has, so he definitely isn’t complaining—especially not when Piers lays down beside him, wrapping his skinny arms around his waist and nuzzling into his neck.

“Recovered yet?”

Raihan makes a half-disgruntled, half-exhausted noise. “You’re a fucking menace, Zig.”

Piers laughs, wrapping his arms tighter around Raihan. “And you love it.” The bed shifts as Piers sits up, retrieving a joint and a lighter from his bedside drawer. “But seriously. Wasn’t too much, was it?”

“Did you hear me say _sludge_?” A short, awestruck laugh leaves Raihan, and he runs his hand over his face. “It was perfect, babe.”

“Good to know,” Piers says, lighting the joint and taking a long draw before passing it to Raihan.

He takes a steady draw, letting the smoke fill his lungs and breathing it out through his nose, dragon-like. Takes another, and notices Piers has put on music; something vaguely punky, but listenable. Iggy Pop, maybe. Piers likes him.

“You’re still a shit, though,” he says eventually, passing the joint back to Piers.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Piers bumps his head against Raihan’s shoulder, mats of black-and-white backcombed hair cushioning the blow. “Can I get you anythin’? Glass of water, cuppa? Should probably let the team out for a bit, too.” Takes another draw, and flicks the ashes crumbling at the end into the ashtray next to him. “They get restless bein’ in their balls too long, especially when you’re here.”

They’ve been doing this for long enough now for things to be familiar, but it’s only then that Raihan realises how deeply, irreparably he’s tangled up in Piers’ life—spare clothes somewhere in his wardrobe, his own mug in the kitchen cupboard, familiarity with his pokemon. Bonds; ones he wouldn’t know how to undo if he tried.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he mumbles, wrapping his arm around Piers’ shoulders. “Just… let’s stay like this for another couple of minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's now [art](https://twitter.com/Horny_Lemon7/status/1305385793595215873?s=20) to go along with this fic! Thank you so so much to @Horny_Lemon7 for knocking this commish out of the park.
> 
> Credit to [this comic here by @denebolart](https://twitter.com/denebolart/status/1219323223168495619?s=20) for having Raihan give Piers the incredibly cute nickname of Zig. <3
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos and comments are massively appreciated. @raunchynpaunchy on twitter if you want to come scream at me there. <3


End file.
